


Sutor, Ne Ultra Crepidam

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [20]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hair, Identity, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sentimental, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Aziraphale sees them first as a serpent.They move silently through the grass and settle for a time at the base of the Tree of Knowledge. Their scales glint in the sunlight, each one broken into a brilliant array of rainbows like the so many thick oil slicks. It is almost painful to look at -- something that could be so beautiful and so terrible.Please see notes for clarification on "canon typical violence" tag. Applies only to certain chapters and is kept to a minimum re: violence already described in biblical texts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Twitter Fic [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115475
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Ab Initio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a Latin phrase meaning "shoemaker, not beyond the shoe" which roughly translates to holding your tongue on matters that are beyond your expertise or understanding. On the other hand, one might best accept advice or correction from those who do have that expertise.
> 
> This story was framed out and started being written previous to my having seen the show and continued after seeing it. My characterization is based on the book/my thoughts with some extra details to flesh out the narrative from the show.
> 
> Prompted by conversations with ydnsm about momento mori/hair as tokens of affection. Thanks to yd and pockypuck for many ideas bounced.
> 
> End notes for additional warnings re: Canon Typical Violence in applicable chapters.

Aziraphale sees them first as a serpent. 

They move silently through the grass and settle for a time at the base of the Tree of Knowledge. Their scales glint in the sunlight, each one broken into a brilliant array of rainbows like the so many thick oil slicks. It is almost painful to look at -- something that could be so beautiful and so terrible. 

Aziraphale supposes that must be the point: to mask the danger with visual appeal. The colors, the smooth, supple body, the hypnotic movement. 

Adam and Eve will need to be stalwart in their resistance.

Aziraphale has faith in them. They are so innocent, so full of love and curiosity. They won't fall to the demon's temptations.

But they do.

Aziraphale cannot understand it.

How could anyone choose Knowledge -- and pain and shame and strife -- over the bounty of the Garden?

The Woman is beside herself, but she finds the strength to stand. Even pregnant, she carries Adam's weight.

Aziraphale cannot just abandon them. They have no means to protect themselves and the World outside of the Garden is an unkind place -- unfinished, still in the process of creation and refinement. He waits until the storm of Heaven's wrath calms and the pair venture out from their shelter. He gives Eve his sword.

She is unafraid, even facing Aziraphale so closely. " _Be not afraid_ ," is not a concern for her. Adam stands beside her, clutching her hand. He listens and reaches for the sword when Aziraphale hands it over to Eve. He whispers fevered _thank-yous_ instead and then the pair is off through the Gate.

Aziraphale walks forlornly through the Garden, mourning the beauty of the thing that might have been. He had been so sure! But the Ineffable Plan was not his to know or to understand, only to play his role in.

He watches Adam and Eve make their way through the wilderness from his place at the Eastern Gate, hoping and praying that they might survive -- that there is a place for them in the Plan, yet.

He's startled nearly out of his skin when the demon approaches. They are in a new form, although they are unmistakable. Their dark wings shine in the sun much the same way that their scales had before. They preen under Aziraphale's gaze, knowing how attractive their appearance is and flaunting it. Their flesh is blemishless and ivory, stark against the black of their wings and robes. But their hair is the thing that makes Aziraphale's heart halt in his chest. So soft looking, so smooth. Like copper threads that have been beaten until as delicately strong as silk. It curls around their shoulders in chaotic waves and Aziraphale wants nothing more than to touch it.[1]

The sky darkens again, clouds gathering over the Garden. Aziraphale lifts his wing to shield himself and the demon steps closer, appropriating the shelter. The demon is speaking and just for a moment Aziraphale isn't sure if they are speaking a language that he understands. He apologizes and the demon repeats themself.

"That went down like a lead balloon."

The demon postulates that the banishment had been an overreaction. Aziraphale finds his sense and counters, the demon doesn't quite know what they're talking about. How could they have any understanding at all of the Ineffable? They are a _demon_ , after all. Their duty is to muck things up.

They wait in tense silence for the rain to halt, Aziraphale's wings held aloft to keep the worst of the wet off both of them. When the sky clears, they part ways. They each have duties to attend to, of course, and Aziraphale can sense that Heaven wants a word.

He watches the demon go, disappearing into the Garden once more. He tucks his wings away and brushes his sleeves straight.

He pauses, a single strand of gleaming red hair hiding in the creases. 

Without the Man and Woman to guard, there is no need for Aziraphale to remain at the Eastern Gate. It pains him to leave his post, but he must obey Heaven's command. As it is, Man and Woman have become Humanity. Aziraphale comforts himself in the notion that he can somehow guard them from further Temptation, that in the world beyond the Garden there may be some Person who would be receptive to Heaven's Grace -- who might help to guide the rest where he could not.

Aziraphale must laugh at his own dreaming. How foolish? That a Human might have that power within them.

* * *

1\. Aziraphale perhaps also knows how attractive the demon's outward appearance is and perhaps wonders if they're job is not also to tempt him.[Back to text.]


	2. Apocrypha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes for warnings on biblical violence.

Aziraphale can see the demon's influence wherever he looks. Humanity's innocence slips away a little more with each passing generation. They discover jealousy and vanity and greed and --

They act out against each other.

There is betrayal. Murder.

But there is still Hope. The agents of hell cannot entirely stamp out that spark of hope. 

Millennia slip by like so many days, so many seconds. The years at times are alarmingly slow as they go, but when Aziraphale looks back he is astonished. In more than three thousand years Humanity has changed as much as it has stayed the same. The most notable progression, Azirphale sometimes thinks, are trousers. They really are a sensible garment in the right setting.

His thighs have never been so thankful. [1]

Through the ages there has been a single point of constancy: the demon. 

The world is at war. It seems that the world is always at war -- War is somehow always near, always batting her lashes and causing devastating winds to rip through the nations. She carries no weapon but herself -- her wiles and influence and uncanny ability to say just the right (wrong?) thing at just the right (wrong?) time. 

Aziraphale is powerless against her. He wishes at times that he had not given up his sword. He might smite her where she stands with her red hair, eating Men like air. [2] Without War, surely the worst parts of Humanity would simply resolve themselves.

Surely.

He needs to hope.

Above all, he needs to hope when he sees the demon at work -- copper and shining in the sunlight and draped in shawls that shimmer like they are made of still, nighttime water. It is offensive, truly. The people of Israel are dressed in sackcloth and adorned with ash to show their devotion to God and beg for Mercy and Grace as Holofernes bears down on the nation. [3]

Judah prays while the demon sashays about, unaffected, just beyond the fortified cities of the mountains.

"What have you done?" Aziraphale asks the demon. "How have you helped her?"

"Wot?" There is a sparkle in their eye, something almost childlike -- almost innocent. "Haven't done anything. Helped try to send her on her way, actually. I'm going to catch, well, hell for it. If things turn out favorably -- disfavorably? If sufficient havoc doesn't happen."

Aziraphale cannot find words for a moment. The demon speaks in circles. It's more obvious each time that they meet how they were able to tempt poor Eve. Aziraphale himself might have Fallen to it. 

"I've put a bit of the fear of God into Holofernes' men. Reminded them that Judah's special. They certainly won't be smote if they attack but if they think they might, well, perhaps War _might_ slip in and start a bit of a fight amongst themselves. Hell likes a good round of internal chaos. It'll be fine, angel."

"How _dare_ you address me so informally."

The demon makes a face, just a slight curl of their lips. The wind whips around them, stirring up sand and dirt and making their hair fly in front of them. They struggle for a moment to tame the mass of it and drape their shawl protectively over their head.

"Well," the demon says in a factual tone. "We've been at this for so _long_." They stick out their tongue and make a sound of displeasure, holding the shawl more securely around their shoulders. 

That night, one of Holofernes' men is left by his fellows to the mercy of the Israelites. Aziraphale listens as they question him and he tells them the terrible things that War has whispered in Holofernes' ear.

Forlorn, he walks through the mountain passes, searching for some sign from Heaven, some slim bit of guidance as to how he might help. He follows his nose, the scent of the blossoms in the cherry groves beyond the city carrying through the darkness of the night. The ḫalub-trees are heavy with fruit. [4] It litters the ground in a dark smear that makes Aziraphale's step hazardous. He reaches the far edge of the grove and looks out over the expanse of unclaimed terrain beyond.

Something bright catches at the limit of his vision, dancing in the cool breeze. He turns toward it and reaches out to catch the glittering thing -- a strand of brilliant, beaten copper. Aziraphale plucks it off of the low branch that it is twined around, snagged in the curling leaves and soft blossoms. He's unsure of what goal the demon has in mind. Is there one at all? So often, Aziraphale has noticed, the demon simply plants a seed and lets the events that follow unfold on their own -- lets the vices of Humanity work on their own.

It's a nasty tactic, Azirphale thinks. To undermine the Grace of God in such a way, to exploit the beauty of Free Will rather than simply tempt the humans as those sent by Hell are meant to. Yes, it would be their own Free Will that leads them to wickedness even then, but at least it would be done properly. Aziraphale works so hard to lead Humanity to goodness and the demon simply... well, simply doesn't.

First, the water disappears. 

Holofernes blockades the springs that served the cities. Young and old alike grew weak with thirst. The people turn against their leaders in their desperation. Aziraphale remains silent -- surely there is a greater Plan? He does his best to comfort those who were worst affected by the great thirst, their spirits so low.

He learns that there are plans to surrender and just for a moment, he is angry. The sinfulness of his wrath disturbs him -- but truly, how could the people believe that Heaven has abandoned them? How could such doubt have taken hold?

Aziraphale prays for guidance.

He's answered when a woman called Judith seeks an audience with those who would mean to decide the fate of the rest. Aziraphale beams as he listens to Judith speak. Were he not aware of her humanity, he may well have mistaken her for one of his own. Her conviction is refreshing -- fortifying -- astounding. How dare they deal in ultimatums, how dare they attempt to instruct the conduct and favor of the Most High? How did they, Humans, expect to understand the depth of God's plans if even Aziraphale did not? How have they not learned from the foibles of their past? 

_Surely_ , Judith is toeing the line of correctness. This matter is a test of their mettle and an experiment in fortification not of the physical nation but of the individual heart against Doubt -- there should be no Thomases among them. [5]

Excuses flow like the water that will not.

Judith proposes a manner of rescue for her people. Her speech mystifies Aziraphale, denying those who she has just so soundly chastised the mode of her proposition.

In a show of faith, they accept. Judith goes away on her own to pray, to bare herself before God and seek favor for her endeavors. Aziraphale must have a moment alone, away from the people -- so proud is he that he actually glows, not with sinful Pride, but with the pride of goodness and grace and joy. 

He is stunned and dismayed when she reappears. She has exchanged her sackcloth for her best finery. She is draped in sumptuous fabrics, her fingers and throat are adorned in glittering metals and jewels. On the dry air the scent of cakes and bread wafts toward Aziraphale, presumably from inside of the pack that her servant carries -- arms also laden with a jar of oil and a bladder of good wine. The men marvel over her beauty, so long forgotten by the modesty of her mourning for her husband and her devotion to her faith.

Aziraphale is confused. He stands by while they bless her, adding his own heavenly influence to their well-wishes. He watches as she goes, every hair on his body rising in warning. Wishing only to protect Judith from whatever was to meet her in the valley below, Aziraphale follows.

The women speak in hushed tones. Judith reviews her plans with her servant, reassuring the woman at her side that all will be well -- that she has faith in God.

"Of course, mistress," the servant murmurs, shifting the burden of the supplies in her arms. The voice is a familiar rasp. The servant gasps as the hot afternoon breeze whips through the valley, nearly stealing the scarf from their head.

Aziraphale is filled with anger. Who exactly does this demon think they are, meddling in such delicate and desperate affairs? Who are they to dare approach a faithful woman like Judith? This entire affair has gone too far. 

Judith and her servant -- the demon -- encounter Holofernes’ men. She tells them that she is abandoning her people because God has abandoned them. She wishes to come into Holofernes' camp and to help him to sack the settlement in the mountains.

Azirapahale grimaces, the air is tinged with the flavor of lies. He cannot parse if it is Judith who is telling them or simply the presence of the demon that is clouding his perception.

The demon must be dispatched. The fate of so many simply cannot be left to the follies of temptation. Aziraphale can feel the sinful aura of the men that Judith encounters. It rolls off of them in waves. To them, she is an object, a prize to be won -- or taken. 

The demon, surprisingly, does not dance into the mire of sin around them. Rather, they ignore it, allowing it to flow away from them like droplets of water off of a duck's feathers. They stay near to Judith, acting very much as a Guardian Angel might, guiding her through the camp and the soldiers and into Holofernes' tent. 

Aziraphale thinks it best to see what is to unfold. He is sure that the demon is aware of his presence. To exert pressure may put Judith -- and her people -- in unnecessary danger.

The angel conceals himself among the soldiers, such a minor miracle isn't a burden. He waits and watches. For her part, Judith maintains the customs of her people and the laws that God has handed down to them. She consumes only the food that she has brought with her, even with such tempting feasts spread out before her in Holofrenes' tent. She resides in her own tent, away from the soldiers and Holofernes himself. Each day for three days she goes out from the camp and back into the valley. There she bathes, cleansing herself for prayer. [6]

It is there that Aziraphale can best offer his angelic influence. He touches the fabric of her prayers -- warming them, making them shine, using them to strengthen the resolve in her heart. Although he cannot hear her petitions to God -- that is a private matter between the Almighty and Their children -- he cannot let himself believe the things that Judith has told Holofernes. She will not betray her people. 

She won't. She can't.

Judith _must_ be stronger than the demon's influence.

The demon... the demon is surprisingly quiet. 

There is not a whisper of influence that Azirphale can detect. No temptation to abandon Grace. The demon is... protective, possessive. Their devilish focus is centered on not Judith, but Holofernes. They stoke the flame of Envy, and Lust, and Pride. The smoke that the flames throw off rapidly convolutes Holofernes judgement. His singular objective becomes tempting Judith into his company rather than closely analyzing her behaviors or the reports that she brings from her daily prayers -- the false messages from the Most Holy.

Judith, Aziraphale realizes, has been praying for the strength to lie. To lie _well_.

He is stunned. God has answered. On the fourth day, the camp buzzes with activity. Holofernes is throwing a banquet for his officers. No expense is spared, no resource left unspent.

The air grows thick with tension. Judith has finally accepted Holofernes’ invitation.

"Aziraphale," a bright voice sounds over his shoulder. Her face is so smooth, so young and vital. It is almost physically painful to look upon.

"War," he answers, his voice as even as he can manage. "I suppose it's finally come to pass, then?"

Aziraphale can feel himself trembling. He hopes it doesn't show. He has never been this close to her before. He's both flattered and terrified that she knows his name. His eyes sting and his vision swims for a moment. It's only the dry air, he insists silently.

"What's come to pass, darling?"

"There will be war. Judah is finished -- Holofernes will take the mountains."

"Don't be so quick to assume." She indicates Judith's tent with a jerk of her chin and her full mouth smiles. "I like her. I think I'll see what she does first. I'm just here for the party. You'll come, won't you? Sit beside me. The rest of them can be a bit dull."

War takes Aziraphale's hand in both of hers. Her shawl flutters around her shoulders in a salmon-colored whisper of linen. The quiver at her hip is empty, but Aziraphale imagines that it wouldn't be if her mood changed. Her joyful expression reaches her eyes in a way that he hadn't imagined possible.

"You can tell me how Heaven is lately. It's been such a long time since I last visited."

"Not since the first war."

She laughs and touches his face as an old friend might. "I'll save you a place. Don't you forget now."

"I won't."

Fat tears finally fall hot on his cheeks when War walks away. Aziraphale's body feels as if it's made of lead. He could sink to the ground and it might just swallow him, broken under his body's weight. 

"Aziraphale!" Someone shouts. His head hurts. He needs water. He needs an entire ocean. "Aziraphale," they shout again. Suddenly his vision is filled with red he thinks that War has returned -- but it's not. "Aziraphale, was that _her_ ? Was that _really_ her?"

The demon's hands grip his shoulders for a moment and then release him. Pale fingers flutter around blush-pinkened lips. 

"It was. Oh, Heaven -- oh, Hell. It was. I felt it, I felt how close she was. We should leave, angel. Place like this? We could get quite inconveniently discorporated."

Aziraphale takes a step back, away from the demon. Their eyes shine. Their plaited hair curls around their shoulders like a slumbering serpent.

"Our place is neither to question nor to flee." Aziraphale takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. "What is Judith planning? You will tell me, you _foul fiend_ ," he hisses. "That woman was so Good and _you_ \-- "

"I don't know, Aziraphale. She won't tell me a thing -- only to be ready. To not question her. And not to hesitate. Whatever it is, it's big."

Aziraphale grits his teeth. He wishes Heaven were more talkative. He feels so lost. [7]

"Angel, I'm working my damned ass off here and... she won't budge. Whatever happens, it's not my doing."

"How dare you act so _familiar_ ," Aziraphale can hardly breathe.

Frustration flashes across the demon's features, turning them sharp. They mutter something he doesn't quite catch. Aziraphale is about to scold them further when Judith's voice rings out across the camp in search of her servant. The demon turns away, leaving Aziraphale standing there alone with his thoughts and far too many of them. 

Aziraphale watches that evening as excitement spreads through the camp. Judith has put on her finest clothes -- even more so than the ones that she arrived in. The demon -- her servant -- walks ahead of her as if a herald to announce her arrival. They spread a soft lambskin on space where Judith is to sit and dine and set out her meal from the stores that they have brought with them from the mountains.

Holofernes makes no attempt to conceal his _admiration_. He leers at the woman, tries desperately to engage her.

War rises from her seat and waves to Aziraphale. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to keep our date," she purrs. 

She directs him into the space beside her, a cup of wine already poured and waiting for him. She follows Aziraphale's gaze to where the demon waits to serve Judith and purses her lips. Whether it is an expression of amusement or something else, Aziraphale cannot tell. Her face is an enigma. 

"So, angel, I have to ask... did you meet my old friend? I haven't seen Famine in some time. I hear he was working quite hard up in the mountains. It's a shame to miss him, but we go where we are needed."

Aziraphale cannot comprehend the familiarity that War implies between she and himself. Like somehow they are as old an acquaintance as she and her fellow Revelations. They are in a way, he supposes. He _has_ been here since the beginning. 

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I'm afraid I wasn't looking for him."

War smiles in an impossibly soft way. Knowingly. Aziraphale's skin crawls and shame flares up his spine in a hot wave.

"It's alright, dear, we don't always work together. Perhaps I'm mistaken."

She's not. 

Judith's composure is impeccable. The night drags onward as long as the wine flows. Aziraphale is so anxious that he cannot even consider eating any of the fine foods that are laid on the table before him. War continues to talk about her work as if about the brightness of the sky and the size of the gathering. All at once the guests begin to clear out of the tent. Aziraphale lingers with War beside him. Finally, Judith whispers to the demon. They step dutifully out of the entrance and Aziraphale can see them just there, outside, waiting.

Judith smiles and Holofernes and tells him that her servant is waiting to accompany her to prayer.

Eventually, Aziraphale can linger no longer. War takes his arm and leads him away. She nods to the demon as they pass them. "Cheer up, Aziraphale," she teases. "I'm sure Heaven has a plan."

From paces away from Honofernes' tent, Aziraphale watches War go. She is a dark shape in the moonlight. The flames of the fires that burn in the camp dance across her form, turning her into a sanguine aspiration across the blue-black sky. Holofernes' guards look hard at Aziraphale and he knows that to stay and approach the demon is not worth the confrontation that will follow. Aziraphale was not to witness Judith's own great plan. In the end, he won't be sure if she'd had one or she simply seized an opportunity that presented itself perfectly neatly.

Neatly. If it could be called that.

At the edge of the camp, near the place where Judith comes each day to pray, Aziraphale pauses. He feels so completely lost, more than before. He cannot hear Heaven's command, no guidance comes from above. It's not the first time, nor the last, that he must depend on his own intuition to get the job done. [8] What he _can_ hear is a most fervent Earthly prayer. 

_"O Lord, give me strength now."_

It repeats over and over again, getting stronger and louder with each round until suddenly it falls silent.

The silence of the prayer rolls through the camp and nearly bowls Aziraphale over. Something has happened.

Something terrible.

Aziraphale turns back toward the camp. It is the demon's doing, surely. Whatever has happened is because of them. They have been so close to Judith, so persistently bombarding her with temptation and ill-will. There is no other way to explain the hot rage that is making the sky and the glow of the camp fires bubble and writhe. The situation is beyond redemption, Aziraphale knows. Soon, he suspects, War will sweep through the camp. She will ride the wind of that rage to Judah and travel over the mountains to raze what parts of the world that Nebuchadnezzar's collective forces have not yet touched.

A pair of figures approaches the edge of the camp. They move swiftly and steadily. There's purpose in their travel that brokers no interruption. It's Judith and the demon, playing the part of servant and laden with what seems to be an awkward package.

It is the time that Judith leaves the camp for her nightly prayers. It is not a surprise to see them but --

The demon is in _distress._ It's written across their face. Something dark trails on the ground behind them. It's coming from the demon, from whatever they are carrying wrapped up in their arms. It is smeared across their bare forearms and soaked into the front of their clothes. One foot shines as they step forward, the dark smear wet in the moonlight across their toes. 

Aziraphale calls out to the demon as they move past him. Their reaction is slow, as if time has turned to pudding around them. They turn their head toward Aziraphale and give him a hard look, no pause in their stride beside Judith. He follows as they leave the border of the camp heading toward Judith's place of prayer and the valley beyond.

The demon turns and looks at Aziraphale again as if actually recognizing him this time. They're not stopping, the pair of them keep going. "Aziraphale," the demon calls out. "Leave! Leave quickly!"

Judith gives the demon a harsh look and urges them onward. They apologize, holding their bundle closer to their chest, and step faster beside her to match her stride.

Confused, Aziraphale falters. The camp guards approach, asking him what he is doing at the edge of the grounds, where he means to go at such a late hour. They have not seen Judith and the demon. Aziraphale thinks that to give them away would do more harm than good.

"What?" he asks drunkenly. "I'm just out for a piss what are _you_ doing?"

Put upon, the guards turn him and shove him back toward the camp.

In the morning there is confusion, chaos. War stands in the middle of it all with her self-satisfied smile. "Sometimes," she murmurs to Aziraphale as grown men tear at their clothes and wail at the sky outside of Holofernes' tent. "The humans surprise even me."

"You'll be off then? Crisis averted." Aziraphale wasn't exactly sure how it had been averted. He couldn't get near enough to the tent and none of the officers would tell him. The glamour of the miracle that allowed him to walk among them without harassment was beginning to fade with the energy that has overtaken the camp.

War _laughs_. The quiver at her hip is full. A long, ornate bow gripped delicately in her hands. It hadn't been there a moment ago -- and yet had been there all along. "Oh, Aziraphle, dear, you do slay me. We'll still have a war, just not the one I expected. They do still have Free Will." Her smile droops just a little. "I wonder if Famine's fun will be cut short?"

She shrugs and wallops Aziraphale between his shoulder blades like an old comrade. She's off sauntering through the camp toward the valley with a promise to see him again sometime soon before he can make heads or tails of the situation. It's time, Aziraphale thinks, to make his way back into the mountains. To be discorporated in the middle of a war would be far more paperwork than he's prepared to do.

Aziraphale is shocked when he reaches the city wall. There hanging, discolored with the heat of the day and pecked by bug and bird, was Holofernes' head.

"O Lord," Aziraphale blurts. "Almighty -- O Heaven!" He thinks to the dark stains on the front of the demon's clothing. "Oh, God, what's happened?" He gags and covers his mouth and rushes through the gate.

On the other side of the wall the people are caught between celebration and preparing for battle. In the middle of it all there is the demon.

 _They_ look lost.

"Aziraphale," they say when he approaches. "Why haven't you left yet? I told you to leave -- you should have hit the road, Jack." [9]

They don't argue when Azirapahle tugs them away from the confused revelry. It's quieter away from the center of things. Azirapahle can demand answers -- figure out how hard he'll need to work to save... well, everyone.

The story the demon tells is horrific. Even though the source of the tale is demonic, Aziraphale feels that against all odds, he can trust the truth of it.

After the feast had ended, guests all gone from the tent, Judith lingered. Holofernes had plans for the woman, terrible plans. He hadn't carried them out, passed out well and drunk. Judith seized the opportunity then in the quiet of the tent and the cover of the night.

With Holofrenes' own sword, she hacked off his head. [10]

When the deed was done, flushed with exertion, Judith had called for her servant, feigning a need of assistance with righting her clothing. The demon entered the tent to find Judith standing there, gripping the head by the hair and covered in blood.

It had been perhaps ill-advised to use the small miracle then, to render her spotless after they'd wrestled the head into the sack they had brought Judith's provisions in. The demon then had been too stunned to contain the rest. They had been surprised to not have been followed from the camp into the valley. Judith had instructed the city's leaders upon showing them what she had done to display the thing on the wall. She claimed victory -- and God's favor -- insisting that Heaven had guided her hands and heart in all that she had done and had protected her from Holofernes' intentions all the while.

"I have to believe her, Aziraphale. The whole time it was as if... as if she were immune to all of my methods, all of my influence." In the telling of their story, the demon looks as ill as Aziaphale feels. "I've gotten word from my lot that I'm wanted elsewhere so elsewhere is where I'm headed. I'm getting out before War arrives and you should as well."

"I should think you'd rather enjoy the chaos," Azirapahle snaps. He's confused. The city is filling with Prideful confidence.

"You know, angel, seems to me that every time something big happens it's not actually my side that's made it happen. Save your own skin or not," they're conflicted, "I don't care."

* * *

1\. Really, the number of different methods to prevent chafing that would pop up over the next several thousand years were both a comfort and a complete frustration. [Back to text.]

2\. _Lady Lazarus_ , Sylvia Plath (1965) [Back to text.]

3\. In a very, very long and roundabout way (which is very likely incorrectly recorded if even true at all as events have been described entirely in the wrong year and rulers as associated with entirely the wrong nations) Holofernes is a general dispatched by King Nebuchadnezzar to crush all those who refused to submit to his rule or assert their independence. [Back to text.]

4\. A kind of fruit tree referred to in ancient writings associated with the goddess Inanna. Likely a cherry tree that is cultivated in the modern era for a spice made from the cherry stones. It has a flavor like bitter almond. [Back to text.]

5\. The Apostle Thomas would doubt that the risen Christ had appeared to the others. His skepticism would only be satisfied with seeing for himself, and touching, Christ’s bodily wounds. [Back to text.]

6\. Even in supposedly vowing to Holofernes to aid him in destroying her people, she keeps their laws and customs much to Holofernes consternation. [Back to text.]

7\. Rather like he has been playing a game with blank cards in a pitch-dark room against a dealer who refuses to explain the rules and only smiles at him while he makes wild bets. [Back to text.]

8\. It is really quite a long game. The kind that it’s rumored hardcore players don’t even leave to use the rest room. [Back to text.]

9\. I guess if you say so, I’ll have to pack my things and go. ( _That's right!_ ) [Back to text.]

10\. _Honestly,_ don’t bother looking at any of the paintings. All of that nude nonsense. The whole damn _point_ was that she hadn’t allowed herself to be defiled by Holofernes and she didn't do any seducing whatsoever. If you _must_ , refer to Artemisia Gentileschi, who gets the effort and the mess just about right -- or Caravaggio who manages to capture her disdain. [Back to text.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The story of Judith and Holofernes ends in Judith hacking off his head with his own sword, smuggling it out of his army's camp, and then bringing it back to her home city to display on the wall. Text contains brief description of bloodiness in the aftermath and the head on the wall. Nothing too gory, but it's there.


	3. Via et veritas et vita

Aziraphale only hears about Gabriel's visit to the Nazarene woman after the fact. He had been elsewhere, sent on several short missions across the continent to make sure that everything was moving along according to Plan --whatever in Heaven's name that plan was. He was fairly certain that around that time, he had been in Japan. Or had it been? He'd been so many places in such a short time, never staying anywhere too long.

It strikes Azirapahle that perhaps Heaven does not want its Earthly operatives to get comfortable in any one place. There seemed to be a bit of a fear that some had gone native, so to speak. Rumors flew of angels who had developed relationships in far too friendly a manner with the humans they interacted with. That they even dared call them _friends_.

Friends with the humans. Preposterous.

An angel's duty is to guide and guard. [1] Not to make friends. Not to feel any kind of sympathies too keenly. It was business, after all, and if you'd been assigned a flaming damned sword you better well return to base with it.

Azirapahle hears about the woman when he did make such a return to base. Gabriel is terribly pleased with himself. He relates the story to anyone who will stand still long enough to listen.

"And so I told her, you foolish human woman, don't be scared. God likes you a lot for some reason, everything is fine."

His violet eyes flash with something that has always made Azirapahle just a little bit uncomfortable. Like, perhaps, Lucifer wasn't the only one to have stirred up trouble -- just been the one to take the fall.

"She was very confused about the whole virgin thing, but frankly, does she need to understand it? Just be happy you've been chosen, honestly. Doesn't she realize how many women are on Earth? Like half the population. If her husband can't get over it then just find another one." [2]

Aziraphale is fairly certain that Mary had been specifically placed on Earth free from original or personal sin in order to act in this particular bit of the Plan. Gabriel is not pleased to be contradicted.

Aziraphale is pleased to leave.

He meets the boy -- Christ, the Messiah, the Savior -- some time later. People have gathered from far and wide in Jerusalem for the Passover rites. Among them is the boy, of course, and his Earthly family. Aziraphale has come to observe. Heaven has taken a surprisingly light approach, letting Mary and Joseph do the rearing for the most part. Aziraphale is meant to report back that everything is going swimmingly and that the boy will keep heading along the path set out for him that nobody's really bothered to tell him he's been walking on. The city grows quiet again as the festival draws to a close. The boy's family gathers together and prepares to travel back home, all tucked neatly into their vehicles and happily on their way.

Mary is truly dedicated to her faith, Aziraphale thinks as he watches them pass through the city's gates. Women weren't required to make this pilgrimage, and yet here she was at her husband's side with her children at her elbow and showing them all of the ways of goodness. The angel smiles to himself. The Almighty couldn't have chosen a better family to foster the Christ child, truly. [3]

He wonders how the boy will begin his work -- when? Certainly the fate of Humanity wasn't something to expect a child to shoulder. An adult would be far better suited to the job. Then again... out of the mouths of babes and suchlike.

Aziraphale makes his way back into the city from the gate, back toward the temple. He still has his scholarly duties to fulfill; his human purpose in this place is still left to tend to until he receives his next assignment. Along the way he sees the boy. He's utterly surprised. Surely there must be a mistake? Perhaps it is only another boy. One who just bares a striking resemblance to God's only Son. His family very definitely has left the city.

"Aye, you there! Jesus!" The boy turns and makes a sour face. Aziraphale gestures him closer and the boy is cautious. "Are you not Jesus, son of Joseph? Come down from Nazareth?"

The boy continues to regard Aziraphale with suspicion. "I'm on my way to my Father's house."

"Your parents have already left the city -- they'll be half a day away by now."

The boy squares his shoulders and points himself forward. He moves briskly through the foot traffic back toward the temple. Aziraphale sighs and does his best to keep up.

"Ah, Aziraphale!" One of the teachers catches his attention as they near the steps. "Your students are waiting."

"Yes, thank you, I'll only be a moment."

The boy has paused in his progress up the steps as well, listening. He asks Azirapahle if he is, indeed, a teacher at the temple. "I didn't notice you this week. I'd think if you were a teacher you'd be teaching."

Azirapahle can feel his face flush over the cheek the boy so daringly spits. "Well, Jesus, you see -- "

"My name is Yeshua, Principality."

Azirapahle is just a bit stunned. The boy gestures up toward the doors as if he is the teacher and Azirapahle the student who is running desperately late.

"I would like to hear what you have to say -- an agent of my Father in His own home." He walks beside Aziraphale into the temple.

"Don't you think your mother is worried? Does she know you've stayed behind?"

The boy shrugs in a very boy-like manner. "My brothers and sisters will keep her busy. I have some time."

The temple scholars are enamored with the boy. He speaks so eloquently, so elegantly. His understanding of scripture and dogma are nuanced in ways that even those most educated amongst them have not considered.

For days the boy listens to lectures and challenges with questions. Finally, his Earthly parents arrive back in the city. Aziraphale sees them in the market. Joseph is distressed, Mary stoic in her concern.

"Yeshua!" They call out and Aziraphale can feel their love and their pain like an arrow in his chest. With just a small miracle he turns them toward the temple. It doesn't take them long to find their son.

"Yeshua!" The mother says, pulling him to herself, her voice breaking around the syllables. "Why have you done this? Your father and I have been searching all over for you. How could you do this?"

Relief has spilled across Joseph's features. Mary struggles to keep her composure.

"Why were you searching? You should have known I'd be in my Father's house." The boy speaks in a matter-of-fact tone like a slap to the face.

"Mariam," her husband murmurs, "come, let's get back to the others. They'll still be looking in town. Let's not worry children needlessly." He seems crushed, like he's just been told there's no Santa Claus. [4]

"Yosef, I -- "

"He's been quite alright!" Aziraphale says, approaching. "Here in the temple, you know. You've got a very smart lad. Has he been enrolled in formal study?"

"Of course," Mariam answers. "And we know our son, thank you. We must be going," she says and puts her hands on the boy's shoulders with some finality. "Thank you for looking after him. He is so precious to us."

Yosef nods and extends a thankful hand to Azraphale. "If you ever find yourself in Nazareth, please, you're most welcome in our home."

Yeshua gives Aziraphale a knowing look and allows his parents to lead him away. The family reunites happily just paces from the temple steps. Aziraphale can see them from where he stands. A gaggle of small children rush through the crowd of long-limbed adults, shouting excitedly as they go.

Mariam keeps Yeshua close to her side even as the others vie for attention. It's astounding and confusing to witness. The Almighty's Son is... so thoroughly Human. He rolls his eyes as an elder of the group admonishes him. A petite girl with dark curls and serious eyes that match his own sidles close and wraps both of her hands around one of his.

"Aziraphale."

He startles at the sound of his name and the sudden radiant presence beside him. He half expects the demon. The week has been too quiet. The last twelve years, really, have been too quiet. He finds himself searching out a flash of copper in every crowd. "Uriel, goodness."

The world hasn't been quiet, of course. There has still been war and famine and pestilence and all of the rest of it. It's just been... quite a long while. As it were.

"The child is growing as planned?"

"I, well, better than expected, in my humble opinion."

"Good, you can file your reports when you return to home office, then. No need to stick 'round."

Uriel watches Yeshua as he lifts his sister from the ground and settles her on his hip. The family makes its way through the city for a second try at departing.

"I thought Mary was meant to be a virgin -- Jesus is God's only Son, unless someone has done their job extremely poorly."

"Ah, if you'll notice, Yeshua is the eldest child. The rest belong to Mariam and Yosef. They are holy only by virtue of their proximity to Yeshua -- and their mother, really -- the father isn't terribly shabby either. You must admit, to have continued on in his engagement to Mariam after she... well after she was blessed -- took tremendous fortitude. It was all very frightening for everyone involved, I'd expect."

"Right. Well, no temptations detected?"

"Nothing terribly apparent."

"Fine then. We're continuing with our current course. Hands off, let him figure it out on his own."

"I do think he'd benefit some proper guidance. Someone to talk to. He's such a bright boy and -- "

"Wrap up whatever you've got going here and return to home office, nothing else."

"Am I to receive a new assignment?"

"I expect so."

"Can I not stay here on Earth, then? I am perfectly capable of receiving communication -- "

"Your corporation is due for an efficiency check. Haven't had one in a few millennia by our records. We will expect you within the next day."

Just like that Uriel is gone. Aziraphale has a strong suspicion that he's been plied with excuses. Someone doesn't want him to have contact with Yeshua. He really can't understand why.

"I've missed them, haven't I?"

Aziraphale nearly trips on the step that he has turned toward.

"Good Heavens!"

The demon is there, dressed in Roman style that is sure to catch attention. [5] They seem to be perched on the balls of their feet, twisting their ankles delicately back and forth so as to not be completely stationary but keep the fidget discreet.

"The archangel? Yes of course you have."

"No, ack!" They make a disdainful expression. "I saw Uriel. Didn't particularly want to stop them for a hello. I mean the boy and his family."

"You will not lead them into temptation, you wretched snake."

"I haven't got any notion to. I just wanted to see what they were like. What he was like. It's not every day you get to meet such a unique occult being."

"Jesus, Son of God, is not occult."

"Well he's not ethereal. Definitely not celestial. And I'm fairly certain he's called Yeshua, son of Yosef."

"Doesn't matter. They're on their way."

"Back to Nazareth, then?"

"That you think I'd confirm that is ridiculous."

Aziraphale considers the demon for a long moment, small ticks of logic sliding into place. "It was you, wasn't it? You lured him away from his family. Thank Heaven I was here to steer him toward the temple. Do you know how worried his poor mother was?"

The demon looks offended. "I did no luring of any kind! I've only just arrived." They purse their lips and regard Aziraphale with open curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"I mean absolutely nothing, now away with you."

The demon's eyes grow wide and they begin to fall, their sandals slipping on the stone as one of the lesser teachers pushes past on the stairs, muttering pointedly.

Aziraphale reacts instinctively, reaching out to seize the demon by the elbow and steady them. They hiss and shake their head, copper curls bouncing and earrings jingling. Aziraphale gasps softly, his hand on the demon's bare arm, their stola fallen back off their shoulder.

The demon's nostrils flare and something unnatural crackles in the air for just the space of a heartbeat.

"I should be going anyway. Job to do. Temptations to accomplish."

The demon bounds down the steps and disappears into the crowd below.

Caught in Aziraphale's fingers is a strand of fine copper thread.

* * *

1\. There’s a whole prayer dedicated to the concept, really for Heaven’s sake. [Back to text.]

2\. Despite common misconception, this visit was the _Annunciation_ and not the _Immaculate Conception_ , which was the conception of Mary by Anne in the absence of Original Sin. [Back to text.]

3\. While the popular narrative holds that Jesus was the only child that Mary ever gave birth to -- in order to enforce to concept of virginity equating purity and favor with God -- there is plenty of evidence both in text and general knowledge of their culture to suggest that she and Joseph enjoyed a large family and Jesus was brother to a handful of younger siblings (some of which may or may not have become Apostles later on). [Back to text.]

4\. There isn’t one, yet, of course .But in time their stories will become impossibly entangled and commercialized so really the dismay is appropriate. [Back to text.]

5\. The demon is dressed in the manner of a sex worker. Not at all extravagantly or ostentatiously, but to anyone around it would be fairly obvious. In this case, that includes a style of long, loose robe that a Roman woman might wear but not a woman from Jerusalem. [Back to text.]


End file.
